The Tsimshian camp is tense - as near to the edge of the protective bubble that they can get, thus as far from all the other surviving inhabitants of the Frozen North as they can manage. The hunters go out in groups of at least five, though less and less frequently, considering the scarcity of prey.

Fox walks out of his tent into the snow. It was good to be somewhere cold again, better to be able to appreciate it. He'd spent several days near-comatose in his tent, fighting an addiction to whatever those yellow berries were called on Draconis Tailvar. The alchemist hadn't mentioned the side effects of not taking his potion. If Fox ever went back, he'd have to think up a way to pay him back, possibly with a specially-concocted Lovage. That seemed fitting.

But for now, he was back amongst his own people, in honest snow, and almost back to his old self. It was time to do something useful. Fox shook his ritual stick, checked he had his mask on, and walked into the Wolf section of camp.

"Where is Donnezani? Fox needs to see his pipe of Wanton Destruction."

Donnezani lazily slumps out of his shelter, shivering lightly. Not the shiver of gnawing cold, the shiver of something chomping at the soul. Reaching into his right pocket, he produces a small pipe. Swiftly a whiff of sweet fruit finds its way into his nostril, stabbing him in the heart. He feels the bile rise in his gut as he stretches out his hand, offering the pipe in the approximate direction of Fox's voice.

''Take it, smoke it, f**k it, I don't care.''

Taking a couple of deep breaths, he composes himself, sitting up, and continues,

''I really need to find a new coat, this one's pocket is lined with the rotting juice of that... mellow... yellow... fecking berry. Why oh why did Fox make me drink that potion?''

Fox nods. "Fox will find a way to repay you back for the potion. If he can find a new coat, he will."Taking the two pipes, he puts them in a pouch on his belt and leaves, heading for the edge of the camp. After a short walk throught the snow, he is left staring at the edge of the protective barrier, well within sight of the Tsimshian camp.

He contemplates the silent mass of glooms standing outside; motionless, expectant. He wasn't used to an audience for his rituals - short of the Gods. Maybe the glooms would enjoy the show, he thought, but given their name, he doubted it.

He carefully steps back, giving himself space, and puts on his mask. He then walks in a circle with his ritual stick held out, tracing a circle in the snow with the end, starting to speak as he does so.

"I call upon the powers of magic, the powers of Fox, Bear, Wolf and Gyrfalcon. Hear me today, hear my prayer, see my sacrifice, and grant me this boon. I call on you for the ability to see through magic, see through illusion, and know the truth about that which lies before me."

<Open Ritual Circle rank 20>

The circle now complete, Fox walks to the centre and puts his ritual stick on the ground. Then he reaches into the pouch and draws out the two pipes.

"In front of me I hold two pipes, pipes of unknown power and use. I would ask of you, guides of our tribes, those who walk through the heavens, to reveal to me their purpose and their nature. Let you hear my prayer and judge my entreaty."

He places the pipes on the ground and picks up his stick again, giving it a shake to dislodge snow and free its trailing ribbon. Then he begins to spin it.

"I ask for the wisdom and Intellect of the Fox. Fox has not the strength of Bear, but has instead the cunning to avoid battle, or to win without swinging a single blow. Fox's mind can overcome any obstacle, pierce any mystery."

The stick spins close to Fox's body, in complex patterns: behind him, in front of him, he throws it lightly and catches it, the ribbon always trailing to mark out the path it has taken. Fox is standing as still as he can, moving the stick around him, keeping the trails as close as possible.

"Fox, be with me now, help me to understand the mystery, unravel the conumdrum of these pipes. Allow me to understand them in their entirety."

Change. Fox sweeps the stick forward and lets it go, to grab it further down the shaft. There's a small imperfection; he almost loses it, to go flying from his grasp, and he has to stumble forward, to keep his balance and his hold on the stick and pull it back. He's not quite recovered.Moving on regardless, he begins slower, larger sweeps that arc over and around his head and body. He begins to spin, to move closer to the edge of the circle.

"I ask for the vision of the Gyrfalcon. He flies high over the world, watching over all, and his eyes see everything. May my eyes pierce this veil surrounding these pipes, may their full nature be laid before me, clear and open. Gyrfalcon, give me the blessing of your sight, your clear understanding and knowledge."

One final sweep, and Fox brings the staff up above his head, spinning it horizontally. Then with one hand he kocks it into the air, and catches it as it begins to fall. With one final movement, Fox brings the stick's base back to earth, and places his free hand, palm down on the ground between the pipes. He bows his head.

"Fox, Gyrfalcon. You have heard my entreaties, seen my prayer. I ask that you now give me this boon, that you reveal to me the nature of these pipes before me."

A hushed silence followed by a fine mist occurs before a voice speaks to Fox telling the story of the two pipes, their intended destiny and how they can be used. Only one mystery remains and that is how they somehow ended up in his possession.